The Grace Bay Agreement Read online

  But in the rational part of his brain he remembered the wording in his operations manual:

  “Upon interception of a message warning of possible mortal consequences, but having nothing to do with a terrorist activity on a large scale, the operator must protect the secrecy of the Agency, its methods, and technology above all else.”

  But not this time. Especially since it was a US Government agent the bad guys were planning to kill. Christopher Monk called his supervisor.

  “Brian. Chris at the Command Center. I need you down here.”

  “I’ll be there in five,” Brian answered. Being on call usually meant one or two calls a night. Brian Dowd slept in his clothes, so all he had to do was walk out the door, get in his Expedition and drive down the deserted street to the compound. The only thing that took some time was the guard inspecting his badge and getting his fingerprint scanned at the door.

  “What is it, son?” Brian called out as he strode into the Command Center. Brian always called Chris “son” because Chris was one year younger than Brian’s youngest daughter. And because he knew Chris hated it.

  “We’ve got an intercept from the Santa Marta Cartel. They’ve made a DEA undercover agent, Pete Dolan.” Chris showed Brian the print outs of the emails.

  “Have you run a file on him?” Brian re-read the email, noting the names.

  “Yeah,” Chris said, nodding his head. With his baby fat and premature balding, Brian couldn’t help but think of a giant bobble head doll.

  “The stupid DEA has a guy in there using his real name! I ran it, and he’s just what they said he is. Ex-CIA, retired Army Surveillance. Guardrail. They’re gonna kill him.” Chris was hyperventilating, and Brian could hear Chris’s voice about to break.

  “Take it easy, son. You know we can’t interfere. If the cartel knows we’ve broken their codes, they’ll move and change tomorrow. It could take us weeks to track them down again, if ever.” Brian started to get angry, now knowing he had been pulled out of his “magic recliner” to come down here and deal with a crisis of conscience from this young geek.

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, boss. We can put out the word that we got this over a land line or a radio transmission. But we have to do something or this guy will be dead in forty-eight hours.” Color drained from Chris’ face and a beady sweat broke out on his high forehead.

  “Son, we’ve got to protect our sources so we can always listen in. You know that. The only time we can risk exposing ourselves is for a major terrorist attack. I’m real sorry for the DEA guy, but it’s none of our business.”

  “Brian, I am going to call the DEA. They’ll help us disguise our source.” Chris started to shake.

  “Alright. Okay. Settle down.” Brian walked over to the coffee pot to buy some time. Here it is, almost midnight, and I’ve got an operator breaking down. What could be better? He poured his coffee while weighing the options. He had to get this kid settled.

  “OK. We’ll get a message off to DEA. But we’ve got keep this thing contained. Go straight to…” Brian consulted the printout. “…this Joiner. Tell him we got the info off of a cell phone intercept.”

  Lost in the decision process, Brian walked out of the command center, opened the door, and climbed up into his 4X4 black SUV like he was on autopilot. He came to his decision as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  We’ll get this message off, and it won’t hurt us. But I’ve got to relieve that boy. Maybe he can work in the tech department, but he doesn’t have the stomach for intercept analysis. Brian shook his head slowly. I’ll call in Jason to help for the rest of the night, and we’ll send Chris back to Washington on the Learjet as soon as this shift is over.

  Brian had a fleeting thought that perhaps he should stay with Chris. No, I’ve got a full day tomorrow, and I’ll be worthless unless I get some sleep. He called Jason on his cell phone, and told him he was on the Black Watch for the rest of the night.

  “Don’t mention to Chris that he’s being relieved. I’ll bet he’ll figure it out as soon as you walk in, but don’t say anything. And call me if something comes up.”

  November 19, 1999

  0105

  White Pine Farm

  North of Spring, Texas

  Steve Joiner’s cell phone was set to vibrate for thirty seconds before it would start to ring. This helped the rest of Joiner’s family stay asleep. Steve, a light sleeper, rolled over to grab the cell as soon as it started dancing on the top of his night stand.

  He didn’t have to worry about waking his wife; they hadn’t slept in the same bed for over ten years. They still made time for sex, always in her room, but she could not sleep in the same room with all the calls that came in every night. They worried her so that she could never get back to sleep.

  “9742,” Steve answered, as always.

  “Boss, this is Command Post Houston. You just received an email from NSA. I thought I should call.”

  His command post saw the sender and the subject of his incoming emails, but they could not open the message. They were briefed to wake him if anything came in from a list of senders that he left with them. Of course, the NSA was not on that list.

  “Thanks, I’ll check it out.”

  Steve rolled out of bed, and took a few seconds to straighten up. The old aches just got worse every year. He remembered how he used to make fun of his father when it would take him a few seconds to get moving after sitting and watching a football game. Now, Joiner was even worse. The years of jumping out of helicopters and stomping around the jungle didn’t help.

  Within a minute, his laptop was up and running.

  “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled as he looked at his inbox. Right there, it said, “NSA”.

  November 19, 1999

  0225

  Beaches Resort

  The dancing and the three drinks have scrambled my brain, Pete thought as he led Lillian around the pool and back toward her room in building B. The warm moon made the curving walkway glow, and a zephyr spread Lillian’s blonde hair out so that it caught jewels of light.

  They climbed the steps to the second floor, both lost in their own thoughts. Too soon for Pete, they reached her door. He turned her to him and hugged her. She broke away and inserted her key.

  “Come in.” Her eyes, so big that they spoke to him of more than just one night. To Pete they were more a warning than an invitation.

  I can’t get involved again. My divorce is not even a year old, and this woman wants more from me than I’m ready to give.

  You know, if you go inside, you’ll be lost, Pete said to himself. Besides, you have a job to do here. If you get your feet tangled up with her, what impact will it have on you? You’ll lose your edge. You’ll endanger her and Jimmy Rooker. His fears pushed out his desire.

  “I can’t, mi amor,” he said. “I can’t.” He saw the confusion on her face. “Don’t put too much into this. I just can’t right now.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair and pushed it behind her ear. I can’t lose this woman. I need to tell her so that she will understand. But if I do, she could be in danger should something come up.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Please have a little patience, and I’ll explain everything.” He let his finger trace down her cheek.

  She gave him a sad little smile, and he could see the moisture welling up in her eyes. He kissed her forehead.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to walk back to his room.

  “I hope so,” she said softly.

  Chapter Four

  November 19, 1999

  1456

  Providenciales International Airport

  Waldo Baranski stepped down from the Hawker HS-125 business jet. He pulled down on his wide-brimmed black fedora, adjusted the Gerber tactical folding knife in his right jacket pocket, and then strode into the VIP passenger terminal. He leaned forward as he walked, taking giant steps. His shoulders rocked in rhythm with his stride, and his ar
ms swung out away from his body and almost behind his back during their return arc.

  His custom-made tropical suit coat was cut to accommodate a .40 caliber Glock in its shoulder holster. His black Gucci captoe shoes reflected the sunlight and the white silk shirt wicked away his already gathering perspiration.

  The terminal manager came out to meet this new customer, and stuck out his hand, but Waldo ignored it and walked on by.

  “Get my baggage out of the plane and bring it inside,” Waldo said.

  The manager didn’t know who this small strange man was, but he looked important. He motioned to the closest line boy, and the young man drove a six-passenger golf cart out to the jet and helped the pilots unload two hat boxes and three huge suitcases.

  As Waldo pushed into the customs and immigration area, he reached inside his suit coat and pulled out his passport, placing it on the high counter. The black customs officer took the passport and pulled it down onto the desk, hidden from the travelers.

  Waldo looked out the window and tried to hide his smile, knowing the customs official would be pleased to find the folded hundred dollar bill, along with a completed Turks and Caicos immigration form just inside the front flap. He heard the thuds as the passport and paperwork were stamped. He looked up from under the rim of his hat and caught the official’s eye. The officer motioned him through and gave a small nod.

  The line boy loaded the bags in the first van available since they wouldn’t fit into a normal taxi. Waldo tipped him twenty dollars.

  “The Beaches Resort,” Waldo said, and the taxi sped off.

  That was easy enough, he thought. No one checked our baggage. No one questioned our cover as a rich playboy here on vacation. Waldo Baranski often talked to himself in the first person plural. When the official saw that hundred, he just assumed we had our own stash of recreational drugs. Pretty common here. But the important thing is… we made it through with all our weapons. After we check in, we need to find this guy, Paul—no Pete—Dolan.

  He started his mental checklist.

  Weapons -- Check

  Transportation -- Jet ready to go in the morning

  Back-up -- Notified my bank that I may need help

  Position -- Room reserved next door to Dolan

  Security -- Set

  Waldo Baranski stopped just inside the doors and surveyed the entrance lobby of the Beaches Resort. The baggage cart, overloaded with his gear, bumped into him from behind. He just shook his head, still scanning the area, looking for any threat. Wheeling to the right, he marched to the check-in desk.

  “Waldo Baranski. I have a reservation.”

  “Yes, Mr. Baranski. I have your reservation right here. Sir, I can upgrade your room to a newer suite for just two hundred-thirty more US per day.”

  “No, my friend told me that building A has such a great atmosphere. And is so much quieter.”

  “Then sir, let me recommend a corner room. Much better view and a wrap-around porch...”

  “No.” Waldo cut her off. “I said I wanted A837 in the reservation email. That was the room my friend recommended. Now, get me checked in or I’ll have a talk with your manager.”

  The girl looked down and processed his credit card. He could see her anger in the trembling hands and in her pounding on the keyboard. She handed him the room keys and the plastic bracelet identifying him as a resident who qualified for the all-inclusive meals, drinks, and activities.

  “Have you arranged for my extra security?”

  “Yes, sir. The guard will be at your door from ten pm until 8 am each night of your stay.”

  Waldo handed her a twenty dollar tip, turned on his heel, and followed the bellboy out to Building A.

  *****

  Pete walked through the resort looking for Lillian. The late afternoon sun hovered just above the horizon. No one he knew was at the pool, and the bar only held a few hotel guests, all in their seventies. Turning north, he waded through the sand, past the dunes and out onto the beach.

  Off to his right, Joan sat in a lounge chair looking out over the calm ocean. Her tiny blue bikini matched the ribbon on the wide-brimmed hat she wore. He tried to walk behind her without her noticing.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” she said. Knowing he was caught, he walked around the front. “This is a beach, mister. What gives with the long pants?”

  “I never feel comfortable in a swimming suit. Besides, I’m so white, I burn.”

  “You’ve got a nice body. You should show it off a little. Hey, I heard you pilots showed the club upstairs how to dance last night.” Pete looked down at a seashell, trying not to stare at her oiled body.

  “Not really. Just that old Bob… Well, he can sure salsa. Besides, where did you get your information? I didn’t see you there.”

  “Oh, you know. I have eyes everywhere. That was a pretty girl you were with last night.” A knot clamped Pete’s stomach. So they keep up with us. They must have watchers everywhere around here. I should have guessed that for an operation this important.

  “Yeah. I’m looking for her right now.”

  “You keep disappointing us women. You do like women, don’t you?” Pete laughed and looked away to his right. They even know I didn’t sleep with Lillian last night. Then he caught her eye.

  “I think you’re gorgeous, Joan. But you’re married. Number one. Number two, you’re married to the man who’s paying me. Those are two barriers I can’t get over.”

  “What if I told you that my husband is, shall we say, very understanding? You see, he’s only interested in money these days.”

  “Just too complicated. Look, I’ve gotta go.”

  He wandered farther down the beach until he spotted Connie coming up out of the water. She waved and came over toward him.

  “That water is just the right temperature. And so clear. I love it.”

  “Have you seen Lillian today?”

  “Why, yes, I have. We had breakfast together, then we went for a walk all around this place looking for you and Bob.”

  “Bob slept until two thirty this afternoon.” Pete arched his eyebrows. She snickered like a teenager.

  “He’s just got to get in better shape,” she said.

  “And I suppose you’re the one to help him with that?”

  “Look, there she is now,” Connie said, waving her arm above her head.

  Lillian ran down the beach with a huge smile on her face. Her wrap trailed out behind her, and her bare feet threw up little rooster tails of sand. She ploughed into Pete, knocking him backwards a few steps, then kissed him hard.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Where is the shy woman I knew yesterday?” This new facet of Lillian captivated him.

  “The shy and demure act didn’t work so well last night, so I thought I’d try something different. What are you doing out on the beach dressed in clothes?”

  “I don’t like to show off my white legs.”

  “Where’s Bob?” Connie asked.

  “After I raised him from the dead, I left him over at the restaurant. And then I thought I’d better come out here and look for you.”

  “We’ve got to get you dressed for the beach. I can’t be seen out in public with you like this.” Lillian took his hand and pulled him toward his room. As they passed the open air restaurant, he noticed a small man in a white suit and matching wide brimmed fedora sitting alone and drinking a mimosa. He raised his drink to Pete and Lillian as they went by. Pete worried. Who is this guy? I thought I knew all the players.

  Lillian drew him around the corner of his building and kissed him again.

  “I can’t forgive myself for letting you escape last night. I thought about you until four this morning. My arms ached for you.” Her eyebrows lowered. “You won’t put me off again.”

  Pete drew her close and hugged her like he wanted to make her part of himself.

  “That’s more like it,” she said as he squeezed the breath out of her. They ran up the stairs to his room, and he
threw her onto the bed.

  They ordered room service around seven o’clock, and ate chicken sandwiches with fruit salad for desert.

  “I like you dressed in a sheet,” Pete said.

  “You’ve got me at a disadvantage. I don’t have any of my things here. You didn’t even give me any time to rummage through your closet and look for one of your shirts.”

  “Won’t Connie be looking for you?”

  “No, we had this all worked out. Connie has Bob in our room and I’m here with you. We women are practical.”

  “You women are something all right, but practical isn’t the word I’d use.”

  A firm knock sounded at his door. Pete opened it a crack, but kept the chain in place. He saw the short man in the white suit and hat.

  “Mr. Dolan, my name is Waldo Baranski,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Steve Joiner sent me.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Pete said, on guard. Steve would have given him some warning before sending anyone else onto the team.

  “Good answer. But I think we need to talk. Can I come in?

  “I have company.”

  “Yes, I know. But now she’s involved in this, too. Let me in. There’re men coming here to kill you. Soon. The bad guys have made you.”

  Pete studied the man outside his door for several seconds, and then looked back at Lillian. He jerked his head to the side, pointing his chin at the bedroom. She bunched up her sheet and trundled off to get dressed. Looking at Waldo’s eyes once more, and seeing good will, he unlatched the chain. Waldo came in and looked around the room, studying the layout. Pete noticed the bulge in his jacket, and wondered if he had just made a fatal decision.

  “I’m right next door, and there’ll be a guard on my room all night. I’ve instructed him to keep an eye out on your room also.”